


God, Help Him

by Theboys



Series: Dear God, It's Me, Dean [3]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alpha Sam, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, M/M, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Omega Dean, Possessive Behavior, Possessive Sam Winchester, Protective Sam Winchester
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-17
Updated: 2015-07-17
Packaged: 2018-04-09 19:25:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,435
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4361339
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Theboys/pseuds/Theboys
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean’s chanting SammySamSam in his head, and he wonders if he hasn’t been praying to the wrong deity this entire time.<br/>In which Dean's heat begins to reach its climax, and he's gradually losing his mind.</p>
            </blockquote>





	God, Help Him

Dean expects to be unceremoniously dumped on the bed as soon as Sammy’s long ass leg kicks the door shut.

He’s mildly perturbed that Sam sets him down gingerly, backs out of his range, sits heavily in the only chair in the room.

Dean scrambles away as soon as he is released, back smacking against the cheap headboard, knocking it loudly against the wall. Dean expels the breath he didn’t know he was holding. Ignores the wounded look on Sam’s face as he looks away from his brother.

“Alright Einstein.” And he’s ashamed at how tiny his voice sounds, struggling to hang on to its masculinity as the heat ravages his very bones. “What was your big plan once you got me here?”

Sam’s face twists, palms turned upward.

“Cause I can’t take care of this damn issue with you watching me like I’m a fucking science project.” Dean settles back against the worn pillows, face stony.

“You can’t solve me, Sammy. This ain’t Chemistry. You ain’t gonna win any medals if you put me back together right.”

Dean scrabbles for the bedsheets when Sammy’s suddenly looming over him, incisors fully unsheathed, eyes that tawny gold they get when Sam’s a hair’s breadth away from shifting fully. “You’re not a fucking pet Dean. I’m not here cause I think it’ll be _fun_ to see you like this.”

Dean’s hips jerk up reflexively at the undiluted Alpha in Sam’s tone, and holds his breath. Gotta block that scent somehow.

Sam doesn’t even seem to notice his body’s perfidy, eyes still roaming across Dean’s face. “I’m not letting you get bred. Bred by some damn Alpha who doesn’t even know you. Doesn’t want you, wants your goddamned _womb. Your ass.”_

Dean, God help him, is hard as a rock at the possessiveness ringing in his little brother’s voice. Knows it’s not for him,not like that, knows Sam’s Alpha is reactive. Protecting an omega he considers pack, intrinsically tuned to keep Dean safe at any (irrational) cost.

Sam leans down, and Dean keens, neck snapping to the side without his compliance, entire body arching up into Sam’s.

Dean can feel his heartbeat claw its way out of his chest and intermingle with Sam’s, every beat more violent than the last.

He can hear Sam’s answering growl as if through a long tunnel, feel his body responding, bent as taut as a wire. Dimly realizes Sammy’s scent marking him, rubbing his scent over every part of his body.

Dean wants to be furious. Wants to shove at his brother and tear him from the bed. Curse him for violating Dean, mutilating his scent into this _owned_ thing, this monster. He can only accept it, wildly soothed that this will tame him momentarily, trick his mind into thinking he’s claimed.

Free his mind, if not his body, from the haze of desperation he’s mired in.

Sam’s pulling away now, entire body shuddering, leftover blood running down his lips from where he’s been cut by his teeth in rapid succession. Sam looks spent, but not contrite.

“I’ll do it again, Dean. I’ll do it until you bleed my goddamned blood, if I have to. You don’t have to give a damn about yourself. I’ll do it enough for the both of us.”

Sam’s almost feral, trembling with rage, and Dean’s frightened, and startled by the emotion. Has never felt anything but concern and affection for his awkward little brother, except, now, that boy is dead.

He’s left a beast in his wake, a volatile animal who demands that Dean submit. Dean’s alarmed, but his hind-brain seems to understand more than he can, at the moment. Seems to accept the care that this Alpha is offering.

Dean whines.

Sammy backs towards the doorway, grimacing, then whirls around to stalk out of it, leaving Dean panting on his bed.

And everything is too fucking hot.

He can’t think straight, rips leather jacket from his shoulders (take care of that, Deano) and tugs Henley over his head, jeans twisted around ankles, kicks them free in anguish.

His boxers are soaked, and there’s not a tactful way to rephrase that. They, too, hit the ground with a wet smack and Dean pushes the covers around him, so he can grab at them quickly if (when, when) Sammy returns.

Dean entire body is pink and warm to the touch, and he gnaws at his lip to keep the screams at bay.

He’s leaking copious amounts of slick, can smell Sam so completely on himself his hole twitches in sympathy and virulent desire. Dean’s wolf is clawing for its Alpha, Dean’s chanting SammySamSam in his head and he wonders if he hasn’t been praying to the wrong deity this entire time.

Wonders if Sam hasn’t always been his false idol.

Dean’s having a exacting time rationalizing his thoughts. Doesn’t know what’s reality and what’s just heat-speak.

Dean brushes his index finger experimentally against his hole, and the contact makes pre-cum ooze out of his slit like water. Shoves a finger up there like a knife through butter, whimpering at the slight full feeling.

Dean was wrong, all those other times.

He’s going to die _here._ Knot-less and Alpha-less, fucking himself open on fingers and desolation.

Can feel Sam’s scent getting buried in his own sickly sweet aroma, barely registers the knocking on his door, knocking that quickly gives way to pounding.

Dean shudders as he brushes his prostate and carefully slides another finger inside, pushing back against two, in misery. The stranger is Alpha. Dean can scent that much.

Dean mewls again, and the pounding is louder, now, accompanied by words. “Baby. Baby I can hear you hurtin’ in there. Know you need a good knottin,’ just gotta let me in. Let me come help you out.”

Dean’s so ready. God he’ll let this knot-head take him whichever way he likes, present himself fully, beg, whatever’s expected in times like these. The strange scent is gone, abruptly, as if it was stamped out.

He smells the firecrackers again, smoke and redwhiteblue, hazel eyes and damnation.

“I’ll murder you. I’ll kill you and your entire goddamn pack if you don’t Get.The.Fuck.Away from him.” Dean recognizes that this is Sammy, this veritable barbarian is his little brother.

The one he raised from diapers, bought his first skin mags, kissed his cuts when he was still too little to worry about looking stupid.

Dean’s crying, cause the SammySam smell is gone and Dean’s damn near drowning in himself--

and then he scents him again, and keens, cause if Sam’s here, everything is safe, and normal, and home

There’s a thump on the side table next to him. He turns his head weakly, eyes trying to take in his brother’s entire body, wants to climb him like a fucking tree, let him take root inside of Dean.

Sam’s hands are in fists (why do they stay in fists, why’s he so damned angry) and he closes his eyes, pinches the bridge of his nose.

“Got you some shit. Use it.” He pauses, gritting out the words like nails, hammering them into Dean’s skin. Dean’s wail is plaintive then. “Not gonna stay Sam? Gonna leave me alone?” He reaches up. Clings to his brother. “Don’ want me?”

Sam’s like a rock. Fucking marble statue.

“Jesus fucking Christ. Dean.” He’s reciting Latin now, an exorcism, Dean thinks hazily.

Sam’s eyes are tawny again, and he breathes heavily. “M’not gonna let us do something we’re both gonna hate ourselves, for. Later.”

“Lie down, Dean.” Dean protests, curving his body upwards again, draping limbs over Sam.

Sam shakes acutely, pins Dean’s arms to his side. “I said lie the fuck down!”

Dean can feel the Alpha timbre vibrate throughout the room. Assumes ‘megas in the vicinity of Sam’s voice are lying the fuck down themselves, no idea why.

Dean’s breathing so harshly his chest is rattling. Aches to move, to touch, babbling a stream of please, Sammy, don’t you fucking love me Sammy, shit he would be mortified over uttering if he were even a quarter sane right now.

And Sam’s face is twisted, eyes battered, ignores everything Dean’s spewing, scent marks him thoroughly, both of them sweaty and disheveled by the end. “Use everything, Dean. M’going into the bathroom.”

He stops at the bathroom doorway, head dipping so low it could touch his feet. Knuckles colorless against the frame. “Stay on the bed, Dean. Don’t--don’t move.” States it as a command, Alpha coloring the order, and Dean’s sobbing, knowing his choices are stricken.

Can’t understand why Sammy won’t _stay._


End file.
